A couple of local investors glanced down at their papers and didn’t raise a hand. One older man in a suit, clean boots too nice for the mountains, lifted his bidder card without enthusiasm.
“Six thousand,” the clerk said.
I raised mine. “Sixty-five hundred.”
The man in the suit looked over at me for the first time. He was somewhere in his forties, tan in an expensive way, silver watch, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. He lifted his card again.
“Seven thousand.”
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